


stay young forever (we could)

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Thorin, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, M/M, Naughty language, Non-Explicit Sex, One Shot, Sassy Bilbo, Top Bilbo, alternatively titled Bloody Thorin Durin, commitment issues, dork thorin, for reasons shortly to become apparent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 19:24:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5677774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you get when you take Bilbo Baggins, a university student with deep-rooted commitment issues, and Thorin Durin, who has never had a proper relationship, and put them in a room together?</p><p>Something like love...apparently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stay young forever (we could)

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god I am actually so scared to post this 
> 
> (It's my first smut fic ha ha ha help me)
> 
> Title from Let's Be Alone Together, Fall Out Boy.

Bilbo can feel eyes on him.

Burning. Hungry. Predatory. _Irresistible_.

Bilbo ignores them pointedly and continues to chat up his newest conquest. It’s only another step in the little game they’ve been playing, after all. 

Bilbo gives his best smile to Bard Bowman; it's a languid, promising thing which digs out dimples on his left cheek, and has brought him plenty of entertainment in the past. Bard’s brown eyes darken further over the rim of his cup and they share a long look, full of promises of things to come -- very specific, _enjoyable_ things -- and Bilbo’s veins are already coursing with victory, because he certainly has this one in the bag.

If that damn idiot doesn't decide to spoil it.

Which of course he does.

Bilbo feels a pair of warm arms snake around his waist, strong and possessive, hot breath in his ear and a beard scraping lightly against his cheek. 

'Sorry, Bowman,' Thorin says with a smirk, nuzzling into Bilbo's cheek and eyeing Bard from the corner of his eye. 'He's busy tonight.'

'Oh, am I?' Bilbo asks, perfectly polite. 'I was not made aware of such an arrangement, Mister Durin, so if you would so kindly sod off, it would be highly appreciated.'

Thorin chuckles lowly and Bilbo would stringently deny to all and sundry that he repressed a shudder at the sound.

'Come now Baggins,' he purrs into Bilbo's ear. 'We've been dancing around each other for weeks, and while it is very enjoyable, I cannot deny my impatience.'

Bilbo wrinkles his nose in irritation. Bard raises an eyebrow, looks from Thorin to Bilbo, then slips away into the mass of dancing bodies, vanishing without trace. Finals week has just ended, signalling the end of stress and worry and tests, which Bilbo had been very much hoping to blow off in activities of the nefarious sort, and now his most promising conquest is gone.

Well, perhaps that isn't entirely true.

Thorin Durin is notorious as one of the more amorous students of Arda University. He's slept with about half of the inhabitants of the Uni, all of whom swear by his methods and about three-quarters of which are apparently ruined for sex with anyone else ever.

The other half, Bilbo has slept with.

He's not a slut. He shies away from that term. And anyone who uses it will find themselves on the receiving end of his ire -- not a good place to be. He will, however, admit to his extremely deep-rooted commitment issues, which always prevented him from ever having a real relationship; eventually he simply gave up, and being a hot-blooded male with needs of a less-than-celibate sort, fell to one-night-stands and escaping before morning broke. He does not cuddle. He does not hold hands. He does not make love. And he does not _fall_ in love. Sometimes he does feel twists of guilt when a previous conquest claims a broken heart, or being used, or that he's an emotionless machine, but he gets past it with a great deal of chamomile tea and burying himself in studies.

Thorin's situation is fairly identical, except for the fact that he uses alcohol to drown his woes.

The entire campus has been waiting for a year and a half for the two to finally get their act together and screw already. Apparently it's a point of interest. There's even a betting pool, or so Bilbo's heard. He himself isn’t too opposed to the idea; past the fact that he'll pretty much flirt with anything vaguely attractive, Thorin takes ' _attractive_ ' and drowns it in pools of hopeless misery with his toned figure and piercing blue eyes and long black hair and delectable beard and deep voice and overall sexiness. The two have been flirting for a while, since a particular encounter in Lit class where the tension became a little too high.

Bilbo tries not to let his expectations get the best of him, but really he's expecting nothing short of mindblowing. 

'Alright then,' he huffs. 'But you didn't have to be so rude about it.'

Bilbo feels Thorin grin against his ear, then a light scrape of teeth down the sensitive edge. It's a promise of things to come and as Thorin withdraws his arm and saunters away Bilbo watches him go, already eyes half-lidded and dark. He's an ass, but he also  _has_ an ass, and really the irritating personality was never a turn-off. More of a challenge.

When he reaches one of the many guest rooms, deserted and nestled away in a corner of Sigma Rho Eta's fraternity house, knowing that Bilbo Baggins is following, Thorin Durin cannot deny his anticipation.

He's done this many, many times before, but he can already tell that with Bilbo it'll be different. The others, perhaps assuming things from his looks and physique and actions outside the bedroom, never fail to submit and expect him to do everything. It's incredibly frustrating, unfulfilling in its wrongness, and Thorin would never be able to whittle down his pride enough to correct their view.

An issue he knows will not occur with Bilbo.

Past that, there's something else about him that makes him...unique. On first glance Bilbo is entirely unremarkable, a plain and slightly stuffy-looking university student with a head of curls which barely reach Thorin's shoulder. Upon closer inspection, however, something about his quicksilver expressions and odd mannerisms and thousands of little quirks draws anyone in like a moth to flame. And, like a moth to flame, anyone getting too close to Bilbo Baggins usually ends up getting burned. According to his past conquests he's addictive, apparently, and his stringent rule of _never twice_ has left a trail of broken hearts Thorin is sure Bilbo doesn't know of and would be horrified by.

Thorin is drawn from his musings by the sound of the door shutting softly behind him, the sound of strobe music cut off until it's merely a soft buzz through the wooden floors. Thorin keeps his eyes on the pristine double-bed and doesn't turn, though he straightens slightly in anticipation.

'Now,' comes Bilbo's voice from behind him, low and unreadable with an undertone which sends heat down Thorin's spine. 'Why don't we address the matter of your interruption?'

Bilbo steps closer to Thorin, his eyes unable to tear away the thin material stretched tight over his back. 'Because I was quite enjoying myself, you know.' He runs a light finger down Thorin's spine and the taller man shudders almost imperceptibly and turns, his calmly raised eyebrow belied by the blown width of his pupil, the pale blue almost completely swallowed by black.

Bilbo feels his mouth go dry at the sight, but forces himself to remain composed and hopes that the slight tremor in his voice goes unheard.

'Do you think you _own_ me, Thorin Durin?’ He steps closer and watches Thorin's mouth fall open slightly, hears his breath hitch at his tone. Bilbo’s confidence skyrockets and he gives Thorin a coy look from beneath his eyelashes, adding a lopsided smirk. 'Because that is a highly misguided view, one that needs to be extinguished...' He traces a teasing path down Thorin's chest, ' _immediately_.'

'Immediately?' Thorin repeats, his voice coming out rougher than usual. He sees Bilbo's tongue dart out at the sight, and something burning and insistent seems to pool in his belly.

'Mm, yes,' Bilbo hums. His wandering finger hooks in the waistband of Thorin's jeans and he tugs him close with a jerk. 'I wonder,' he says, head tilted up so his nose is only an inch from Thorin's own. 'I know you have controlled before, but have you ever _been_ controlled?'

Thorin only has time to feel a thrill of arousal (he was right, he _knew_ it) before Bilbo is driving him backwards until his back hits the wall. A tingling pain arcs through his nerve cells and his inhibition disappears, along with everything in the world but the man before him; losing all finesse he tilts Bilbo's chin and crushes their lips together in a desperate kiss. He feels Bilbo's almost animal moan tingle against his lips and presses deeper, pushes harder. Bilbo's clever fingers appear in his hair and tug at the roots with just enough pressure to send stars bursting across Thorin's eyelids.

' _Fuck_ ,' he gasps, before winding his own arms around Bilbo's soft waist. His jeans are now becoming uncomfortably tight, and this angle sends his crotch accidentally brushing against Bilbo's. A molten wave of heat bursts over him and he just barely hears Bilbo curse over the roaring in his ears. 'Fuck,' he says again. 'You're going to be the death of me some day, Bilbo.'

Bilbo laughs into Thorin's mouth as his hands contract in his hair. 'And you'll like it?' he asks, intended cheekiness ruined slightly by his own heavy panting. Thorin's body is all hard muscle and radiating heat against his own, fogging his mind with the realisation that _this is finally happening_ , and god he wants it.

'And I'll like it,' Thorin confirms, before biting Bilbo's lower lip. Bilbo can't help his tiny gasp at that, opening his eyes to see Thorin's dark gaze filled with smugness; it's a brazen challenge and he meets it head-on, leaving Thorin's mouth (with reluctance). He focuses instead on the sharp jawline that he once mused could cut rock, biting and sucking at the stubbled skin until Thorin hisses through his teeth and tilts his head back. Bilbo would've smirked if enough coherent thought had existed. He's driven by pure instinct and pure instinct alone, and so is actually a little surprised when Thorin's buttoned shirt comes tearing off... _p_ _leasantly_ surprised. Feeling distinctly mischievous, Bilbo tickles his fingers up Thorin's hard chest; Thorin lets out a surprised laugh and tries not to squirm, because those fingers are cold as fuck.

'Was that a giggle I heard?' Bilbo asks innocently, nipping playfully at the cable of Thorin's neck. Thorin makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl before ducking down to claim Bilbo's mouth.

'Don't tease me, Baggins,' he threatens. Bilbo giggles into the kiss, before instantly disobeying orders and tugging again at Thorin's waistband.

'Do those really need to be here? They seem a tad unnecessary.'

'A tad, eh?' Thorin asks, grinding his hips in revenge. Bilbo pants and arcs his neck, which Thorin swiftly takes advantage of. It doesn't really help Bilbo's concentration at all when Thorin sucks his way down his neck, leaving a highly obvious trail of bruises.

'More than a tad,' he manages. 'A lot, lot more.'

 _Maybe practise does make perfect,_ he thinks. He's never felt anything like this before, no matter how cliché that sounds...and isn't that a terrifying thought.

'Mmh,' Thorin says. 'Well, in that case, I leave the honour to you.'

Bilbo throws him a bit of a glare (cocky bastard) but soon his mind presents him with a rather wicked idea which his dark side can't help revelling in. So he falls to his knees, casting Thorin an impish grin, and begins picking at the zipper which blocks him from his goal. 'Bilbo?' Thorin asks. His voice has shot about an octave higher, and Bilbo would be highly amused had it not been for the distinctly breathy edge to the word that sends his thoughts blanking and impatience shooting down his spine. As it is he merely tugs down the offending garment with a shocking speed and gets to work.

' _Fuck_ ,' the taller groans, his head falling back against the wall. Bilbo considers speaking to him about his rather lacking range of words applied in the bedroom, but then he's swiftly distracted by the noises Thorin makes, which come nowhere near words yet somehow communicate much more.

Eventually Bilbo pulls away (because he is a dirty tease who teases) and Thorin pulls him to his feet with a growl, slanting their lips together like its absolutely necessary.

 _Maybe it is_ , he thinks dazedly as Thorin surrounds him with his heat and body and scent, his larger hands a brand against his skin where they've slipped beneath his sweater. Bilbo’s attention is caught when Thorin begins to tug at the hem, and he pulls away slightly. The whine which Thorin releases in the back of his throat should most definitely be prohibited, and the heat of arousal is sending uncomfortable prickles beneath the soft material of his shirt.

‘You're wearing far too many clothes,' Thorin says, as if sensing his thoughts, and despite himself Bilbo lets his sweater be tugged off. His collared shirt isn't really much of an obstacle, and soon Thorin's hands are roaming all over him, leaving a burning trail along his sides, back, shoulders, and Bilbo's panting now too, laboured breaths mingling with Thorin's own. His jeans and boxers soon join Thorin's in a pile on the floor and he pushes the taller man down onto the bed. He falls back without complaint and just _watches_ , dark eyes hooded, looking fucking regal even as his lips are wrecked and swollen and his cheeks are flushed and his chest heaves (and a lovely chest it is too) and his _discomfort_ is rather obvious, and something inside Bilbo breaks and floods him with warmth and he practically jumps onto the bed. Thorin's laugh is soon replaced by a groan as Bilbo puts all of his well-honed talent to use and presses him down into the sheets.

'Checked?' he manages, sucking on Thorin's lower lip.

'Two weeks back,' he replies, voice rough and equally incoherent. 'Clean.'

'Same,' Bilbo pants and dives back down to kiss him. Before he knows that he's doing, the flavour has changed - it's slow and languid and soft and…and _loving_ , and he doesn't know who changed it but it sends a not wholly unpleasant shudder down his spine. It feels about as easy as tearing cloth but he pulls away and presses his face to the joint of Thorin's neck and shoulder so he doesn't have to meet that discerning gaze.

'Alright?' Thorin asks somewhat hoarsely, and Bilbo shuts his eyes.

'Fine.'

A lock of Thorin's long hair brushes against Bilbo’s hand where it's pressed into the sheets by the other's head, and for some reason _that's_ the thing to make him feel shaky and weak and open and _vulnerable_ , and that scares him so much that he falls back on experience. 'I'm guessing you have the necessary materials,' Bilbo says, pulling back to straddle Thorin's middle once more with a smirk. And it's a lovely middle indeed — but that's off topic. The mood’s back to that of a quick fuck and that's how it's staying.

'You guess correctly,' Thorin purrs, and all it takes is a dark-eyed glance to the bedside table and Bilbo's there. A few other interesting items roll around the drawer but right now Bilbo only wants one thing.

He firmly stops his mind from wandering down the path of _another time_. Because this is strictly _one-time_. Committed relationships, even just for sex, are nasty, uncomfortable things which mean, well...commitment.

Bilbo doesn't shirk coating his fingers in lube, grinning lazily down at Thorin — who raises a testy brow, the impatient bastard. Honestly, he's on his back, straddled by a man about half his weight and certainly a lot weaker, naked, he's let out an entire plethora of embarrassing(ly delicious) noises (which Bilbo would’ve liked to record, just for future reference of course) and still he has dratted _composure_.

Everything about Bilbo rebels against it, so again he puts his highly talented fingers to work and before long Thorin is writhing beneath him, his hips in the air, head thrown back to bare his neck, the most delicious noises tearing from his throat. With the very last shreds of his composure Bilbo gives a last teasing stroke to that sweet spot inside Thorin, earning himself a sound somewhere between a roar and a scream, and slides out his fingers with the most obscene sound, allowing Thorin to fall back to the bed.

'Now then,' he manages through his panting, raking his fingers appreciatively down that sculpted chest. 'Should I finish what I started?'

Thorin undoubtedly tries to complain but it's mangled to a wordless moan, his clouded blue eyes glaring rather weakly from where they're framed by a tangled mess of hair. Bilbo can't stop himself from burying his fingers in it and pulling to expose his neck, and doesn't want to, raking his eyes over the delicious sight.

When Bilbo doesn't immediately return to his ministrations Thorin whines and bucks, his reddened lips gaping as he regains coherency.

'Swear -- to -- god, Bilbo,' he pants. 'Please, just -- _please_.'

The beg sends a bolt of arousal up Bilbo's spine and the last of his restraint crumbles away, and he lifts up Thorin's hips in a bruising grip and pushes in fully in one sharp snap. Thorin shouts hoarsely and his swollen mouth falls open and his eyes are darkened and sheened with arousal and the bruises Bilbo left are visible through his dark beard, he's hot and blazing around Bilbo and it's all he can do to not come right then and there. For a moment his head drops and he shudders wordlessly, gasping, before Thorin begins to keen and beg half-coherently, rasping pleas dripping from those lips on that beautiful rich voice, and Bilbo gives a roll of his hips slow as he can manage, experimenting with angles until Thorin's head slams against the wall behind and he lets out the filthiest, most wrecked moan yet.

For a moment Bilbo wishes he can lean over and kiss him. Brush his fingers across that lovely cheekbone. Trace the path of his ridiculously endearing smile-wrinkles with his lips, and nose into Thorin's hairline and simply share the silence.

A cold shock scares away the warmth which had filled him at the thought.

Bilbo freezes.

Did he just...

No.

He couldn't have.

Bilbo Baggins doesn't wish for _commitment_ , for god’s sake! Or domesticity! And definitely not with bloody _Thorin Durin_ of all people!

The sound of his name strained out from between clenched teeth crashes Bilbo back to himself and he blinks at Thorin's impatient glare, recalling his hands on Thorin's hips and the sweat prickling across his skin and the arousal curling deep in his stomach, and everything sort of smashes into a ball of frustration and arousal and affection and fear and he lets out a fierce noise and drives into Thorin at a punishing pace. He watches the irritation disappear from those blue, blue eyes, replaced with perfect clouded ecstasy, and Bilbo's own thoughts blur around the edges as he loses himself in sensation -- the sounds of the bed creaking beneath his thrusts and Thorin's wrecked pants and groans and his own gasps and the heady tang of sweat and sex and _Thorin_ , the feel of Thorin's warm skin beneath his fingers, of his knees over Bilbo's shoulders, of the slide and clench of him and that heady heat, the fire burning away in his own ears. Bilbo fixes his half-lidded eyes on Thorin, drinking in the sooty smudge of his closed eyelashes and the furrow of his eyebrows and that stupid line between them that he wants to kiss away, his mouth hanging open in wordless ecstasy, his hair spiralling past his hawkish nose or stuck to his temples, his furred chest heaving, hands flexing where they’ve latched onto the bars of the headboard. It’s completely ridiculously impossibly _beautiful_ and worse is that his body isn't even what draws Bilbo to him. It’s his little smirks and his dry wit and that perfect small smile which Bilbo only ever saw once and wants to see again, every day, and the way his ears go red when he's embarrassed, how he shuffles around and clenches and unclenches his hand when uncomfortable, and the thousand other things Bilbo shouldn't know but _does_ , and he knows there are more and wants to know them _all_.

Bilbo drives in one last time and Thorin presses his face half into the pillow, spasms and chokes out Bilbo's name in a painfully open moment; what Bilbo feels as he crests surpasses words. It’s a fire tearing through him, lightning turning his world white and searing, all of the fireworks in the world set off behind his ribs, but flavoured bittersweet with his wishes. He pulls out with a shudder and a hiss, already cold without Thorin's warmth. He's moving to fetch something to clean their mess, struggling to push down a rising tide of desperation and fear and goddamn _longing_ , but then Thorin's fingers close softly around his wrist in a branding circle.

Bilbo looks back, breathless and hoping despite himself.

'Stay,' Thorin rasps, blue eyes suddenly achingly uncertain, and before Bilbo knows exactly what he's doing he's being pulled into the warm circle of Thorin's arm. He presses his nose into Thorin's chest and closes his eyes as the duvet is pulled up around him, nowhere near close in either warmth or comfort to Thorin's embrace.

He feels Thorin's fingers twine gently with his curls and stiffens.

'Don't move,' Thorin whispers, voice still low and rough and ruined. 'I wish to...pretend, for a moment.’ Bilbo's hand clenches where it lays on Thorin's stomach even as he wishes to melt into Thorin's touch. He's never done this before. _Never_. No one has ever come this close. And of everyone, everyone in the world, it’s this idiotic messed up gorgeous drunkard with stupidly cute habits and a beautiful voice, bloody Thorin Durin of all the ridiculous things.

'Pretend what?’ Bilbo muffles. He almost doesn't want to know. He hears Thorin's tiny sigh, feels his arms tighten gently around him and his hand brush through his hair, and it sends hopeless warmth rushing through him.

'Pretend that you're mine.'

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Well then.

He takes in a short, jagged breath, fumbles for a moment, then gives up.

'You...you don’t... have to pretend. If you don't want. To. That is.'

Bilbo can only hope the words didn't come out as strangled as he thinks they did.

There's silence for a moment, the only sound their mingled breathing, and Bilbo only has time for the smallest flash of doubt before he feels Thorin's lips against his hair.

Thy are, rather unmistakably, curled into a smile.

'Well thank god for that,'  he murmurs, and its so stupidly cute and breathless and relieved that Bilbo laughs and nuzzles into Thorin's skin, feeling impossibly fond, purely _happy_ as he hasn't been in years.

And all because of bloody Thorin Durin.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *runs away*
> 
> *hides*
> 
> Please tell me what you think, feedback is a super-bonus and especially with this being my first attempt at...erm...intimate situations, it would be super useful. This was actually really hard to write and constructive criticism would be a great help :))


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